Dark Minds Think Alike
by tinseltown
Summary: Loki has a strange conversation with Blair Waldorf and realizes he and the scheming young woman aren't quite so different... Looks like he's not the only one with world domination on his mind.


_Note: What if Loki and Blair met? The idea intrigues me. Those two are actually sort of similar, in some ways! This is just a one-shot. Also, I'm keeping it semi-lighthearted! I wouldn't want to lose the humor in these two characters. So yes, if this seems a little OOC, that's unfortunately got to happen…because let's be honest, if both characters were fully in-character, Loki would probably never decide to talk to her. (Also, I've taken a few liberties with The Avengers' plot. The scene where Loki terrorizes that party in Germany is now taking place at an art gala in Paris and things go a little differently.) _

Loki felt the stare burning into the back of his head before he actually saw it. He paused for a moment, hands still clasped behind his back, still staring up at a dull oil-painting of Napoleon Bonaparte hung up on the wall (though why, Loki wondered, the French would hang a portrait of one of their more idiotic leaders—in his opinion, anyway—on the wall, he'd never know). He waited for another second; perhaps the stare was random. But when it did not cease, he turned around to see who it was.

A girl stood about fifty feet away, looking extremely bored. She was petite with glossy brunette long, loose ringlets and a royal blue cocktail dress on with slick black pumps that had red soles; Loki could see flashes of red from when she shifted a little. Diamond teardrop earrings glittered at her ears and she was holding a flute of champagne. Even from this distance, Loki could see her brown eyes and her glossy pink lips. She was also staring at him—or, rather…his coat?

Loki had some time to spare. The man whose eye he needed wasn't here yet, so he smoothly made his way over to the girl, who looked a bit startled as he came at her. "Hello," he said smoothly. "And you are…?"

The girl blinked for a second—and then regained her composure. "Blair Waldorf," she said. She held out her hand.

Loki knew she expected him to shake it or something of that nature, but instead, he kissed it and said, "Pleasure." He waited, expecting her to be embarrassed or shocked—but to _his _surprise, her expression remained neutral. Content, even, with finely arched brows, as if she expected this sort of regal treatment. But human males didn't act this way anymore…did they?

"And, Blair Waldorf, why were you staring at me from behind?" he asked, smiling slightly.

"Oh, you saw that," she said. She sighed and shook her head and then smiled, a polite smile that was very business-like. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I was just admiring your suit. I've never seen one as nice as it—and my boyfriend dresses impeccably, so that's saying something." She sounded as if she surprised even herself, and Loki wondered if her _boyfriend_ (really, the slang mortals used these days was so crass; could they have come up with nothing more eloquent than stringing together the words _male _and _companion_? It sounded so meaningless and childish) really dressed so impeccably that she was shocked another man could have nicer clothing.

And anyway…was his clothing really the only thing she was interested in? Loki had absolutely no interest in mortal women and was not as boneheaded as Thor was to think that every female in the realms would find him attractive. Still—he knew he was a far sight better than most human men. So he had to admit, he was a little surprised that she was so fixated on his _clothing_.

"May I?" she asked suddenly, reaching for his jacket.

"By all means," he said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.

She rubbed the fabric of the label between her manicured fingers and sighed. "Perfect. I'm going to have to add something like this to the spring collection."

"I beg your pardon?" Loki asked, now confused. What was a "spring collection"? Did she mean an assortment of springs as in the contraptions humans had invented to allow things to bounce?

"My mother owns a fashion line," she said, her voice smooth and quite self-satisfied. "Eleanor Waldorf? I'm sure you've heard of her, her work is based in Paris mainly. But she's recently put me in charge of the American branch, so! I've got to make sure everything goes perfect." She smiled then, and it seemed a little menacing. "Or heads will roll."

"Heads will roll," he repeated.

"Well, you've got to manage the workers, right?" She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I'm surrounded by total idiots. If you want to get the job done right, you've got to do it yourself—but luckily for _me_, I have plenty of minions I can order around to do my work for me. And if they don't do it perfectly…well, they'll seriously wish they had."

_Minions_. Loki had to admit, the strangely devious word sounded rather odd coming from the mouth of a pretty young woman—but then again, her expressions and tones were smoother and more poised and calculating than any young woman he'd ever encountered before. She had the grace and mannerisms of young Asgardian females of noble rank, but unlike them, she also spoke boldly and self-assuredly, with little to no hesitation or embarrassment.

"I agree," he said, not quite sure why he was telling her this—but then, who cared? He was going to take over her planet in a day or two anyway, so he may as well indulge in some conversation with a human. She was more interesting to talk to than any of the humans he'd met so far anyway. "About the minions, I mean. It's all very well to do your own work, but isn't it more satisfying to make others do it for you?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Thank you! It's like I always say: Some people were born to rule. And some people were born to work under the rule."

_Some people were born to rule. _This hit a little too close to home for Loki. He felt an involuntary twitch of anger that had nothing to do with this insignificant-yet-interesting girl and everything to do with his brother and his parents and his lineage and his _birthright_—but he still had the urge to strangle the girl suddenly. It wasn't her fault. She just shouldn't have reminded him about his most bitter struggle…

When he snapped to, he realized she had turned away from him a bit and was snapping shrilly into a cell phone. "_No_, Dorota, I don't _care_ if she broke her leg—I need those samples sewn and finished by the time I walk back into the atelier tomorrow morning!" There was a pause and she snapped, "I don't care what you have to do—tell her I'll file a lawsuit against her for standing in my way to greatness—but _make it happen_! Barneys isn't going to _care_ if one of my worthless seamstresses broke her leg, they're going to care about the clothing. Do you understand?" There was yet another pause and then Blair said, suddenly sweetly but with still a hint of a threat in her voice, "Thank you, Dorota. I'll see you tomorrow morning." She turned her phone off and turned back to face him, her face still fixated on something on the screen.

He said, _"Ahem"_ and she jumped, slapping a delicate hand to her chest. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realize you were still here!"

He gave a faint, tight smile. "Problems with the—ah—_minions_?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just one of my seamstresses being overdramatic. I mean, does _anyone _care that people from Barneys are coming tomorrow to view the collection? People need to re-adjust their priorities."

"This meeting is important to you?" he asked, still not sure what "Barneys" or a "collection" was. Was this a Midgardian thing or a female thing? Either way, he was clueless.

"It's my first step to total domination," she said. Then she laughed in an _Oh, I'm so embarrassed! _sort of way and said, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I told you that."

Loki's eyebrows had shot up at the words "total domination"—yet another strange phrase from her mouth—but he said, "No, no, by all means, continue. I assure you, I have no plans with total domination. I, myself, aim to take over the world." He meant this literally but Blair didn't take it that way.

"I just want to be on top," she said. "I've got the style, the brains, the wealth, and the breeding for it. Who better to lead the next wave of fashion for the country—and possibly the world?" Her eyes gleamed at the prospect of being in charge. "I admit, I've been through some…setbacks. One of my mother's seamstresses tried to sabotage her. I managed to banish her from New York City. And my own best friend tried to outshine me a few times"—she grimaced at the thought of this best friend—"but brains eventually beats beauty and I've got both. My own _mother _even once fired me…but, like I said, I've gotten past it all. And tomorrow, when I get back, a new future starts for me." She took a deep breath, as if trying to convince herself of this.

Loki was strangely riveted. Here was someone as cunning, ambitious, and strangely dark as him. She also seemed intelligent and a little more classy than most wretched, meager humans he encountered. Loki was almost sorry that he was, ironically, destroying New York City—where she apparently lived, judging by what she had just said—tomorrow because he would have found it amusing to get to know her better.

He saw a sudden movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see Barton (who had been signaling at him) stealthily nod at him once from the corner and then silently glide out of sight before any party goers even noticed he was there. He looked around and saw the man who's eye he needed to get any further in his plan. Time to move.

He looked at Blair, who was staring at him, looking a little confused (probably because he had just gone silent and looked away), and—against his better judgment—suddenly said, "If I were you, I'd heed my advice soundly: take the back exit out of this building right now and do not go out the front."

She looked alarmed but a little more irritated, if anything. "I beg your pardon?" she said. "Why?"

He changed then, morphing out of the suit she so dearly coveted into his typical green and black and golden Asgardian armor, all leather and metal. His cane glowed and changed into his scepter and he felt his helmet materialize on his head. Blair paled and stumbled back a step, hollowly saying, "Oh my effing god," in a horrified voice. He smiled at her, a dark and dangerous smile, his eyes narrowed. "Because, Blair Waldorf, I'm about to go and destroy your beloved New York City—and then I'm going to achieve total domination over your world. I'm _sure_ you approve." He threw in a wink for good measure.

And then he turned and stalked through the crowd towards the man, ignoring the faint cries of shock that were already starting up in the crowds around him, intent on only the man he needed to continue on marching forward towards his glorious destiny.


End file.
